


We Need To Talk About Ben

by MalevolentReverie



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Brick KILLED A Guy, But He Sure Wants To Fuck His Mom, Codependency, Complete, Darkfic, Eventual Smut, F/M, Implied/Referenced Underage Prostitution, Incest, Lactation Kink, Lil Murder, Masturbation, Mental Health Issues, Mother/Son Incest, Non-Consensual Voyeurism, Non-Linear Narrative, Obsessive Behavior, Older Woman/Younger Man, POV First Person, POV Rey (Star Wars), Parent/Child Incest, Possessive Behavior, Rey Doesn't Want To Fuck Her Kid, Stream of Consciousness, Teen Pregnancy, Violence, oedipus complex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-06
Updated: 2019-01-03
Packaged: 2019-09-13 04:35:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 7
Words: 8,783
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16885716
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MalevolentReverie/pseuds/MalevolentReverie
Summary: There's something wrong with Ben from the very start.





	1. madonna

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Нам надо поговорить о Бене](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17475818) by [Tersie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tersie/pseuds/Tersie)



> ughhhhhhhhhvhhh

He’s born on a snowy February morning, two AM, emergency cesarean. He’ll continue to be an unapologetic pain in the ass for the rest of his life, and then he’ll turn into something much worse.

A nurse settles him in my arms; this screaming bundle of pale limbs and gums and a shock of black hair. I tremble while I fret over the red rash on his cheeks—is that normal? Is he okay? He’s big and breathing. Nine pounds. Wrapped his umbilical cord around his throat and didn’t breathe for a bit.

I’m fourteen; way too young to have an infant. Too plain, not very smart, and now a single mother. I’m terrified. I’ve spent most of my life living in a basement and now I have this _thing_ squirming in my arms after growing in _my body_ for nine months.

Back in the hospital bed, the nurse shows me how to nurse—only, I have nothing to give. She pats my arm and shoots a glare toward Unkar sitting near the window gabbing on his phone. He’s trying to make Ben’s father pay up for ruining the goods.

 “I’ll tell your fuckin’ wife!” Unkar spits. He’s huge and greasy, but the only family I’ve ever had. “You take your fucking kid and give me ten grand for—” His fat face puffs. “Yeah, I got extra for the pregnant sex, but now her gut is sliced open!”

I peer down at Ben. I found the name in a baby book at the library. Ben _jamin._ I like it.

He blinks at me. Yawns. Curls a tiny fist around my index finger and whines. He has a cute face: protruding ears, big nose, and big, expressive eyes.

After he has a bottle, he falls asleep rooting around for my nipple.

—————

 “You’ll make house calls here. Kid’s dad is paying.”

Unkar stands beside me in my new apartment, smoking a joint. I look around the dilapidated place, clinging Ben to my chest, and scowl. The paint is chipped and fading, the floors creak horribly, and it only has one bedroom.

 “It’s disgusting.” My scowl deepens. “And I’m not bringing customers here when Ben is here, too.”

 “He’s a fucking infant, Rey. Think he cares if he hears you moaning and shit? We have a revenue cycle to keep up and you’re part of it. Don’t like it, get out.”

Ben whines. I huff and sit in a folding chair near the window, adjusting my shirt to let my breast free. He turns and mouths at my nipple for a second before latching on. He’s a natural, says the nurse.

 “I can’t have sex for a month,” I remind Unkar. “So… you have to wait.”

He keeps smoking and glowers at the back of Ben’s head. I glare back and cup my son closer, protective. I was always obedient before Ben. Not anymore.

Unkar grunts and shrugs.

 “Fine.”

But a month passes faster than it used to, and I don’t have any job leads when it’s up.

Ben’s asleep in his crib, all the way in the kitchen when the customer rings our doorbell. I kiss his forehead and he mumbles in his sleep. Just a few more times—then I’ll run away.

The guy isn’t anything impressive, just some lanky redhead teenager. He smiles and I don’t bother smiling back. He paid his money and he’ll get his product. Doesn’t mean I have to be friendly.

He saunters inside. “I’m Armie. Nice to meet you, Rey.” His green eyes roam to Ben’s crib. “Heard you have a baby here.”

I shut the lock the door. We have some furniture: my bed, Ben’s crib, and a futon in the living room. Usually I play with Ben and take him for walks. Otherwise it’s empty, and I don’t like this strange man walking toward my son.

My spine prickles. Mother’s instinct for the first time.

 “He’s a month old,” I offer.

 “Little guy, huh?” Armie stands over the crib with his hands in his pockets. He’s wearing a green polo and jeans; real jock-type. “What’s he eat?”

 “…Milk.”

 “From your tits?”

 “ _Yes_.”

Armie raises his eyebrows like it’s a shocker and keeps staring at Ben. I wait. Patient.

 “I want him to watch me fuck you.”

I dig my fingernails into my palms. “Get out.”

But these kinds of men don’t know the meaning of the word ‘no.’ Armie straightens and laughs at me, then he’s coming, much faster than I am. I backpedal and dart down the hall and he catches me just inside the bedroom. I scream and twist, slapping and taking a scratch across his cheek.

He slaps me back; throws me into the wall, calls me a bitch. Ben _screams_ like I’ve never heard and it makes my chest tighten painfully—I limp towards him, but I’m caught around the waist and swung through the air. I kick and scream even louder.

Armie throws me on the futon and straddles my hips. He grins and wrestles with my wrists while I slowly grow hysterical with the need to calm Ben. I snap my teeth and kick my feet and use everything in my arsenal to make this motherfucker get _off._

Green eyes meet mine. “Let’s see if I can get off listening to both of you scream.”

Rage bubbles in my veins. I jerk up and bite Armie’s shoulder until blood pools in my mouth and I hear _him_ howling in distress. He slackens and I get the welcome opportunity to slap him across the face again and throw him off me to the floor.

I scramble for the kitchen. Ben’s still crying and Armie is swearing vengeance as I rummage for a pan.

Armie seizes my hair and bellows down at me. I flail in my back, pivot, and _slam_ the cast iron into his left calf. He buckles and falls and keeps promising to make both of us scream—

This time I bring down the pan on top of his head with a sickening crunch. His voice stops. He slumps.

I heave for air as I cast the pan aside and race over to check on Ben. He’s fine, just sobbing for attention like he always does, pale cheeks stained red.

Trembling, I coo to him and slip my arms in the crib, lifting him up to my chest. He relaxes over my shoulder and dozes off again after a couple pats. He’s attention-seeking, but not a hard baby to deal with.

I glance at Armie dead in my kitchen.

Time to go.


	2. mary

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh no

 “Miss Niima…” Sigh. “We need to talk about Ben.”

He’s ten years old, growing like a bean stalk with a bad attitude growing just as fast. We’re in his principal’s office because he’s failing _again_ and about to be held back _again._

I’m on the verge of tears. He’s so hard to deal with. It’s so humiliating when I know he can do it. Ben sits beside me with his arms crossed and glares at the desk. He hates me. I’m sure of it.

 “Can he salvage his grades?” I ask weakly. 

 “I’m afraid not. Ben will have to repeat third grade.”

I sob. Ben doesn’t look away from the desk.

We head home in silence. I’ve been busting my ass for the past seven years trying to keep him happy and healthy. I think he’s a demon. He fights me on everything he can and constantly complains about how he doesn’t have a new phone or game.

Some days, I genuinely think he’s evil. Our cat died last week. I loved that cat.

 “Go to your room,” I mutter inside the house. It’s tiny, a bedroom and a den, where Ben sleeps, but I worked hard for it. I’m a manager at a restaurant. We get by.

 “Bitch.”

I stiffen and whirl around. He’s halfway up the stairs, but knows I heard him within ten seconds.

Ben books it. I book it faster.

I catch him in the hallway and grab him around the waist. He’s getting big and heavy and howls as he twists out of my arms. I’m yelling and he’s yelling back. He drives me fucking _crazy._

We get to the floor and wrestle. I manage to pin him on his back and he pants and glowers.

 “Call me a bitch again,” I hiss. “I _dare_ you.”

I kick his bookbag on my way past.

—————

When Ben’s thirteen, I go out on a date. Or, I try to.

He’s prone on our couch, feverish and coughing, so I cancel. Ben’s my son, and he’ll always come first.

I kneel beside him and cup his hot cheek. He blinks slowly, dark eyes hazier then when he was born, and whimpers. I smile and brush my fingers through his hair. He still refuses to cut it. I kiss his cheek.

Something sparkles in his eyes. Realization.

Ben shivers. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry, baby. Watch TV and let me know if you want something to eat.”

He nods. I kiss his forehead and feel his gaze follow me out of the living room.

But he keeps getting sick. He’ll bring me in the bathroom and show me vomit, then keep vomiting, but never breaks a fever. I have to call off all sorts of dates and outings to tend to him.

I call the doctor the sixth time it happens and she tells me to bring him in for an evaluation. She says there’s a weird illness going around and maybe he has it. I hang up and write down the appointment date.

Ben calls weakly from his bedroom for me. I peer inside and he beckons with a wave of his hand. He’s in his new pajamas, wrapped up in blankets with comic books beside him in bed. He huffs, teary-eyed.

 “Can you stay?” he mumbles.

Of course. He’s my sick baby.

I pout and nod, then patter over in my slippers. Ben smiles as I crawl under his new blue sheets and start curling on my side. He huffs and squirms closer, worming into my arms and resting his head under my chin. I’m ecstatic. He hasn’t wanted to be close for _years._ I beam and hug him.

 “We’re going to the doctor tomorrow,” I whisper.

 “M’kay.” Ben smells my neck. “What’s that?”

 “You know what the doctor is, Ben.”

He grunts. “No—your neck. It smells like cologne.”

I’m a little taken aback. I laugh and rap him teasingly on the arm. They’re getting thicker than mine.

 “My perfume, you goof.”

Ben’s voice brightens. “Oh. Thought maybe you went out and saw someone.” He grabs my hip to pull himself closer. “I’m sick—I’m on death’s door, mama. Can’t leave me here alone.”

I laugh and push his hand off. “Yeah, okay. Drama queen.”

Ben’s a little too close. He sighs. His hand comes to rest on my ribs and it makes my spine prickle.

 “Love you, mom.”

—————

The doctor doesn’t have much to offer. His blood work is all clean, save for some dehydration, and he doesn’t have any parasites. I sit next to him in the office, idly playing with his hair as he nestles on my chest. The doctor casts a weird glance.

 “Has Ben gone back to therapy?” she asks. “It may help him work through his feelings.”

 “That’d be great, I think. Right, Ben?”

His nose brushes the top of my breast.

 “Right.”

So we set up an appointment for next week and pick up anti-nausea meds for Ben. He stands right next to me and toys with the hem of my shirt while we wait in the pharmacy line.

 “D’you think dad will ever want to meet me?” he mumbles.

I wrap an arm around his shoulders. We’ve had this discussion before and I never know what to say. He’s getting older, so he should know that I’m the only parent who cares about him, but… it’s not his burden to bear. It’s mine, because I’m his mother and I love him. Even if he _is_ a brat.

Ben sighs. “I don’t mind. I actually like it just being the two of us.” He smiles at me, now my height. He’s huge. “Love you, mama. Thanks for keeping me alive.”

It’s a nice moment.

We head home and I settle him back in bed. He nuzzles into my kiss and I relish how much he wants me to touch him. I smile, then he yanks my forearm.

Suddenly, my son is kissing me on the lips. Nausea bubbles—it lasts a few seconds too long—then he pushes back and licks his cracked pink lips. I stare at Ben as he nestles under the blankets with a smug smile. He opens one eye and looks at me.

 “Love you, Rey.”


	3. isis

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> damerey one-night stand

The doctor claims Ben is making himself puke to get attention—that he’s lonely and trying to get my sympathy. I want to disagree, but he doesn’t have any friends I know of and he’s always hanging out alone in his bedroom. Maybe he _is_ lonely.

But I don’t have much time to indulge him. I work almost ten hours a day, Monday thru Friday, and I’m usually gone before he leaves for school and home when he’s dozing off on the couch. I can’t give him more attention.

—————

A couple nights after Ben’s fourteenth birthday, I finally go out on a date with Poe Dameron.

He’s nice. Charming, and not hard on the eyes. I drink a few glasses of wine during dinner and decide to invite him upstairs when we arrive back at my house. It’s been years since I’ve had sex.

Ben’s watching a movie in his bedroom and I whisper to Poe that we need to be quiet. I lead him down the hall to my own bedroom and turn on the TV for background noise. _Really_ don’t need my son hearing me fucking this guy.

Poe kisses me, then works through the buttons on his shirt. He laughs a little (‘this is romantic’) and I rummage in my nightstand for a condom. I keep my stash fresh, just in case. I can’t handle another kid.

 “I’m clean,” Poe murmurs in my ear. “Relax, Rey.”

 “Yeah, no. You need to put a raincoat on.”

He sighs, but does what he’s told.

It’s pretty hot having to keep our moans and movements quiet. Poe covers my mouth with a hand and grunts softly into my neck each thrust, moving shallow and slow to keep the wet sounds down. I move my hips just so and manage to come with him inside me, drawing a couple ‘fuck yes’s’ and ‘oh Rey’s’. I whimper into his palm and glance lazily toward the door when the pleasure slips away.

Ben’s standing there.

My eyes widen in horror, but Poe is on the brink of coming, which he announces a few times in my ear. I stare at my son while he watches this man humping away at me with incriminating thrusts under the covers. Poe groans. Ben’s dark eyes roam down the sheets and settle on my face.

He cocks his head and smiles. I puff into Poe’s palm and rip my eyes away from Ben’s as I feel another orgasm coming that I can’t control.

 “Almost there,” Poe whispers, too loud. “You coming again, baby? Come for me. Milk my cock.”

I glance to the door and see Ben still standing there, eyes riveted on my face. He raises his eyebrows.

Dizzy, nauseous, I come again with my forehead pressed to Poe’s shoulder, then he finishes with loud grunts and groans. I keep my face hidden until he stills and when I look to the door, Ben is gone.

—————

It’s too weird to say something. He knows what he saw. I’m not going to bring it up.

I notice an uptick in crunchy socks in Ben’s bedroom, but chalk it up to him being nearly fifteen. They masturbate. That’s perfectly normal.

I’m not saying anything.

Even when I come home from work and hear porn playing loudly in his bedroom; hear him huffing through the thin wood door. Even when he leaves it wide open one afternoon and I see him crouched on his hands and knees, jerking off on a pair of panties that look a lot like mine.

Ben’s my son. He knows there’s a line.

—————

We watch a movie on the couch on his sixteenth birthday. He’s a giant now, over six feet tall, but his voice still cracks sometimes.

I haven’t been on a date since Poe. I’m afraid of Ben catching us again. And staring.

 “What’s on, mama?” he asks.

 “ _The Babadook._ Chelsea said it was a good one.”

Ben fans a blanket across our laps and shrugs. He’s sitting right next to me and shifts down to lay his head in my lap. I swallow hard and comb my fingers through his thick black hair. This is your _son_ , Rey.

The movie starts. A couple quiet minutes pass, then Ben rolls over on his back. I glance at him and see he’s biting his lower lip. My gaze travels.

He’s jerking off. I can see the lewd tent from his dick and his hand moving furiously under the cover. Ben has his long legs over the arm of the couch and he’s breathing softly with the occasional twitch. His lips part and he seizes my jaw.

It forces me to look down at him. My chest hurts and I try to yank back but he’s gotten a lot stronger. Ben gazes into my eyes, smiling and panting.

 “Feels so good, mama,” he whispers.

I’m frozen in shock.

He searches my eyes and another minute or so later, his body tightens up as he comes. I squeeze my eyes shut but hear him grunt and groan ‘mama, mama’ and then I feel the distinct need to vomit.

I slap his hand away and run to the bathroom to puke. He’s sitting on the couch when I’m done, but I run upstairs to my bedroom and lock the door.


	4. gaia

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> LOL

I’m fucking mortified.

I avoid Ben to the best of my ability for the next week, sickened and traumatized by what I’d seen. Right in front of me—he didn’t even hesitate.

It’s hard to focus at work and harder to drive home knowing I’ll have to face him sooner or later. I’ll have to acknowledge my son’s sexuality towards _me_ , which is a worse thought than anything else. I’d rather he hated my guts rather than loving them too much.

But I have to face him eventually. We live in the same house and I still love him.

That night I settle into bed early and read a new book. The door slams downstairs—Ben coming home early—and I hear him thump up the stairs. My heart pounds as he hulks down the hallway and a small _knock, knock_ precedes him barging in my room.

He smells vaguely of pot and has the red eyes to match. I raise an eyebrow as he sways in wearing some ratty Eminem tank top. Ben hits the lights.

 “Turn that on!” I demand. “I was reading, Ben!”

The bed shifts. “It’s bed time. Sorry.”

 “I’m the adult; I decide bed time.” I try to curl up under my blanket. “Get out.”

 “But school fucking sucked today. I wanna complain.”

The sheets rustle and I feel him sidle up to me. He nuzzles into my breast and drapes an arm across my ribs, casual, like it belongs there. His lips are awful close to my nipple. I squirm and ruffle his hair.

 “I’m tired,” I lie. “Long day.”

 “Was it?” Ben asks. He shifts closer. “Why?”

It’s a warm night and the fan’s rattling away near my window. I set my book aside and startle when his arms pull me back. He’s strong now; sinewy teenage boy with a bunch of strength and no foresight. I don’t know what to expect from him.

 “Just worrying about bills. How about you? Been out smoking again, Benjamin?”

 “Little bit. Failed some test.”

 “Stop failing tests.”

He snorts. “Yeah, whatever. Thanks for the support, mom.”

 “Well, I can’t _always_ give you what you want.”

We settle in the bed and somehow, awkwardly, Ben is spooning me. I try not to make it weird. It’s not weird. I gave fucking birth to him. This is my _son._

I clear my throat. “I’m going to sleep, so…”

 “Okay.” His breath is hot on my neck. “Go ahead.” He gives me a squeeze and wriggles his hips against my ass. “Same thing I’m doing.”

I don’t want him in my bed—not after what happened a couple nights ago. But I’m afraid to confront it and too exhausted to argue, so I try to shimmy away an inch. Ben follows, grinding his hips into my ass. I reach back and fumble pushing on his ribs.

 “Cut it out!” I hiss.

 “Cut _what_ out? Why’re you always yelling at me?” He stretches and settles again. This time I feel the worst possible thing press against my ass. “Stop squirming, ma. Weirdo.”

Revolted, panicked, I scramble to get away from Ben without making a scene. This isn’t happening.

He’s hard. He’s definitely hard.

I claw at my worn soft sheets and my son growls teasingly behind me. He shuffles and cages over me, snatching up my hand pawing for the edge of the mattress, and twists it behind my back. Eyes wide, I breathe hard in the darkness as Ben gently rolls on top of me, hips slotted between my thighs.

He breathes on my ear. Pins my other hand under my stained pillow. I stare at the dark wall across the room and just listen to my son breathing in my ear.

Ben squeezes my restrained wrist. “What are you always yelling for, mama; huh?” Licks his lips. “Don’t you think I’m a good boy?”

My mouth trembles. I feel nauseous. “Ben… please go to your room.”

He doesn’t reply for a minute. I feel him nosing around in my hair, inhaling and humming under his breath. He’s too big and heavy for me to move him. My son is officially not a little boy anymore.

Then he sighs. “New perfume. I love it.”

We lie there for a bit longer without moving. Ben seems to just enjoy showing off how strong he is and pinning me to the mattress.

Eventually he leaves. I don’t move at all during the night, not even to lock my bedroom door.

—————

 “My son is becoming… um…” I hesitate. “Sexually aggressive?”

I’m with Ben’s therapist, struggling to admit his behavior and how disturbing it is. She nods, brow knitted, and writes things down. I hope she can help. I don’t know what he’s ramping up to.

The therapist clicks her pen. The office smells nice, like lilacs, and it has a few games for the kids to play. I toy with a Rubik’s cube while I wait for her answer. My boobs are awful sore, too. Another doctor I need to see.

 “Ben has some attachment issues,” she says after a long silence. “But he displays some more… _concerning_ behaviors. For one, the death of your pet cat—I’m sure you realize that was probably his doing?”

I nod, eyes brimming with tears. He said she got stuck in the washer. He watched me clean up the blood.

His therapist nods. “I know this is very upsetting for you, Miss Niima. Ben’s getting older and of course, bigger. Now he can act out his violence on bigger targets and you happen to be the most readily available. With the increased drug use, I’m concerned for your safety. Is there anywhere he can stay?”

 “His father’s a piece of shit,” I blurt, breaking down into sobs. “I don’t know anyone who can take him and—I’m—I’m scared of what he’ll do next.” I cover my face with both hands and cry. “What did I do? Did I not love him enough? Is this my fault?”

 “Of course not.” She fiddles with her pen. “Your son has had sadistic urges for quite a while. He’s just grow big enough to act upon them.”

—————

It’s like being a prisoner in my own home. I’m walking on eggshells, waiting for Ben to invade my space, and there’s nothing I can do about it.

He’s my son and I know what happens in foster care. I won’t let him be bounced around between houses until he winds up working for Unkar Plutt. I’m determined to figure out what’s wrong with him. I’ll make it better. It’s just the two of us.

The therapist recommends that I try my best not to show fear. She says if I ‘engage’ or panic, I’m just feeding into the sadism. I have to be calm and clear. It’s easier said than done.

One afternoon I come home early from work, reeking of grease and oil, and walk upstairs to take a bath. I hear sounds coming from my bedroom and wander down the hallway to investigate. Ben’s usually out of the house for the most part, so…

I wince and nudge my breast. Still sore.

 “Oh—m-mommy—”

I freeze. Slick steady sounds echo from my bedroom. Ben’s moaning.

He’s masturbating in my bed.

His voice catches and he whines. “Gonna come so hard for you.” Whatever porn he’s watching is full of whimpers and gasping and it turns my stomach. He grunts. The bed creaks rhythmically. “Ah… ah… f-fuck—”

No way am I walking in and confronting him.

I head back down to the kitchen and find a phone number I haven’t dialed in years. He still sends the checks, so I don’t really care.

Ben’s father picks up on the third ring. “What?”

 “Hello, Han. You need to come deal with your son.”


	5. durga

Han is the same miserable asshole he was when we first met. Back then he had youth on his side and a weird charm about him, but now he’s older and worn-down, and it definitely shows.

He pops over when Ben’s at school. I recognize the faint scent of oil and cigarettes when I let him in the house, and he tracks mud on my welcome mat. His hair’s grey now. Still wears old torn clothes. He’s changed, but not in a big way.

 “What’s the deal with the kid?” Han grunts.

We sit at the kitchen table with two glasses of water. As always, Han’s straight to the point.

I have a hard time looking at him—keep thinking about the nights he paid for me and we went to some seedy hotel for half an hour. He was always mechanical. It seemed like he was scratching an itch, not enjoying the experience.

I curl a strand of hair behind my ear. “He’s just getting aggressive and I can’t control him anymore.”

 “Aggressive how?”

 “I _really_ don’t want to say, Han. Just put the fear of God in him or whatever.”

 “Fine.” Han sips his drink and widens his eyes. “Weird way to meet my son, don’t you think?”

 “All you did was donate the sperm and some cash.”

He purses his lips. “Fair enough.”

Our chat becomes oddly pedestrian: weather, the news, work. Han is easy to talk to like he always was; putting me at ease. He’s always on time with the checks that help keep me and Ben afloat—sometimes I think he feels bad.

Then we slip into silence. There’s nothing else to say that won’t inevitably lead back to the painful past.

Ben comes home about half an hour later. I hear him on the stairs and it hits me that I’m introducing him to his father. This probably won’t go well—this will be awkward and painful but I have nowhere else to turn.

Han stands. He looks nervous for the first time since I’ve known him and he runs a gnarled hand through his grey hair. If I knew anyone else to ask, I would’ve. I don’t want to hurt him or Ben.

Then the door opens and there’s no going back.

Our son steps in with his headphones on and doesn’t notice Han for a minute. Ben smiles at me and pulls them down around his neck, blaring rap in the kitchen as he drops his bookbag near the door. He touches his watch to turn the music off and his dark eyes flicker to his father.

I start to talk, but Han interrupts.

 “I’ll take a walk with the kid.” He strides past me and keeps his eyes on Ben. “Let’s go.”

Ben glances at me, jaw tight, but follows Han. I watch them walk out the front door.

—————

They come home a couple hours later.

Ben’s mad. He storms up to his room and slams the door. Han hangs in the kitchen to help me finish dinner and we don’t say much. I just hope we can get our son under control.

 “This was stupid,” I mutter. “Poor kid.”

 “He’s an asshole.” Han sets the table for three, since apparently he’s staying. “I told him he better keep his hands off you. Said I’m his dad, too. Didn’t like that one bit—says I’m ‘ruining everything.’ Little twerp.”

 “Jesus, Han; he just met his _father._ You’re so tactless.”

I call him ten times to come down and when he doesn’t, Han offers to ‘drag his ass down.’ I’m not in the mood for World War 3 breaking out in my house, so I trump up the stairs myself to get Ben. He won’t be a dumbass with another man in the house.

The door’s shut, but not locked. I knock twice before I let myself in to Ben’s pigsty of a bedroom.

He’s lying on his bed with his headphones on. I pick my way across his clothes and miscellaneous shit strewn across the carpet, reminding myself that he’s scared and confused. He just met his dad who started the discussion with a threat. Han’s such a jackass.

 “Ben.” I rub his back and he stiffens. “Talk to me, sweetheart.”

He grunts.

I roll my eyes and perch on the edge of the bed. “I’m sorry he’s such a jerk, but… we’ve been having a hard time lately and I thought Han could help. He’s not here to stay or anything.”

Ben’s silent. I keep rubbing his back for a few minutes, unsure of what to say. I’ve never understood this parenting thing and I’m pretty sure I’ve failed him. It’s a weird feeling, but one that’s followed me for a while. I’m the reason he’s sliding down somewhere I can’t protect him. I’m just a bad mother.

I pat his back, blinking away tears. “I’m sorry. I’m doing my best here and it’s not good enough.”

He’s quiet, then heaves a sigh.

 “You’re good enough,” he mumbles into his pillow. Ben turns his dark eyes on me. “…He’s not staying, right?”

 “Not forever, but I need some help. You and I just don’t connect like we did when you were little.”

Ben rolls on his side, frowning at the wall. He pops out his earbuds and sits up, running a hand through his thick black hair. He’s calculating again. I should be afraid but I can’t bring myself to question my own son. We just need a little space.

But I can’t stop thinking about him masturbating right in front of me or the way he pinned me to my own bed. I stare, steadily sinking into fear. Something isn’t right about Ben.

He rubs his nose. “Fine, let’s connect.”

 “Ben. You’re a teenage boy now—there’s stuff you’re going through that I don’t get.”

His long face tightens into a scowl.

 “I want him out,” Ben snaps. He cracks his knuckles, growling. “This is my fucking house. You’re _my_ mom.”

 “I know baby, but I just don’t know what to say to you sometimes. Your doctor thinks you’ve been a little violent lately—”

 “I am not _violent._ ”

 “Come on. Don’t bullshit with me.”

Ben steps out of bed and drops his headphones on his nightstand. He glares at me over his shoulder.

 “It’s supposed to be us, mom. No matter what.” His dark eyes flicker to my hands in my lap. “If you don’t want to be friends with me or whatever, that’s fine.”

 “I’m your mother, not your friend.”

He chews his inner cheek. “Fine.”

I watch him leave. He kicks the door on his way out.


	6. kali

My breasts really start to ache over the next week, so I decide to go see the doctor. I haven’t had sex in quite a while and know I can’t be pregnant, but the dreaded ‘c’ word hangs over my head.

Han hangs out around the house. He lounges in the living room watching TV and Ben hovers in dark corners, glaring at him. I do my best to keep busy until my appointment comes up and I have an excuse to leave the tense house.

My blood is drawn and a mammogram is scheduled. The doctor doesn’t see anything obviously wrong and there are no lumps, but to my horror, milk leaks during the exam. I stare at it beading creamy white on the tip of my nipple. What the _hell_?

She frowns. “Hm. It almost seems like you’re letting down. Have you taken any antipsychotics?”

 “No—I just have that implant. The IUD?”

 “Ah. Well, we’ll see how the blood work comes back and go from there. Sometimes the hormones go on the fritz and we suggest switching to a different birth control method.”

It doesn’t really matter because I never have sex. I nod along while my doctor talks and head home.

It’s a Saturday so I expect Ben to be out with his friends, but he’s lurking around the house instead. He’s started working out to impress some girl he’ll never tell me about and I pinch his bicep on my way upstairs. He jumps, then follows.

 “Lookin’ good, Rocky,” I call over my shoulder. “You gonna wear sleeveless shirts from now on?”

Ben lopes up behind me. “When’s Han leaving? You said it wouldn’t be long and it’s been a week.”

 “A week isn’t a long time.”

He huffs and trails after me into my bedroom. I sit on the edge of the bed to unlace my sneakers but Ben kneels and grabs my ankle. He absentmindedly unties them, peering over his shoulder at the door. Han’s watching a football game or something downstairs.

 “I want things back to normal,” he grumbles.

 “Me too.”

But I can’t just ignore all the bizarre things Ben’s done. Masturbating in my bed, and right in front of me, and pinning me down? I want my gap-toothed baby back, not this six foot tall teenage terror.

He folds his legs in a pretzel and starts rubbing my foot. “How was the doctor?”

I flop back and shrug. “It was okay. Just waiting for test results.” I’m not talking to him about my boobs leaking milk. Yikes.

 “Good.”

We lapse into silence. Ben gives a good foot massage and I drift off into a light nap before long.

When I wake, it’s dark and I’m under covers that aren’t mine. I frown, confused until I realize it’s Ben’s worn old sheets. They smell faintly of boy; musty from a hormonal body he’s trying to hide with cologne and body spray.

It’s quiet. I sit upright and look around the bedroom bathed in moonlight but don’t see my son. That concerns me even more.

Then his door creaks open and he steps in. He smiles and his dark eyes flicker down to my chest. I’m about to ream him out and demand what I’m doing in his room, then I look down, too.

My right breast is leaking. It’s already formed a wet spot on my blouse.

I’m so shocked that I can only touch it lightly with my fingertips. My nipple feels sensitive and a bit sore; both breasts are heavy. It’s been years since I breastfed Ben but I remember the strange feeling of being full and needing to pump.

The sheets rustle. I slowly turn my head and see Ben settling next to me, gaze trained on my chest. He nuzzles my neck and leans into my side.

 “Mama,” he breathes. He cups a big hand over the breast that’s leaking and squeezes gently. I startle as more milk dribbles out.

 “I—I need to—”

Ben rips through the buttons down my blouse. It falls open and I scramble back, shocked into stammering nonsense, but he follows. He tries rolling on top of me and turns over with with his huge arm around my waist, restraining me to his chest. I struggle to push up and off him.

 “Ben—Ben!” I arch up on my knees between his thighs. “Honey, _stop_.”

His phone vibrates with a text. Still, he cages over me as I fall on my back, legs spread around his hips. My head doesn’t quite lean on the bed but Ben cups his hand under to keep my neck from bending. I stare, panting, and watch him lick his lips.

A confusing emotion washes over me as his warm mouth roots sloppily for my nipple. Muscle memory wants to guide him; prop up a little and help him find his mark. His teeth scrape, not the gummy mouth from an infant, then he latches on.

It’s worse than the mix of pleasure and warmth of breastfeeding a baby. I’ve heard horror stories of moms realizing they’re turned on while feeding and abandoning it altogether to keep the heady dose of oxytocin at bay.

This is worse. Ben’s not an infant I’m rocking to sleep—he’s a horny teenager lapping his tongue across my nipple and cradling _my_ head.

I rub my thighs together, horrified by the sensation tingling its way down my spine. He’s sucking gently, rhythmic, and rests his weight on his elbow with a soft sigh that makes my hair stand on end. I squirm and paw at his broad back.

He rolls on his side and pulls me along. We’re on the end of his bed but he tries pulling his blankets over us from the corner near the wall.

I want to scream, but I don’t want Han to see. I jump when Ben mouths along my other breast and his hand pushes up my shirt, fingertips tracing my spine. My pulse roars in my ears. What the _fuck_?

The suckling starts again, wet and sloppy. I can’t deny the sense of relief from each pull or the heat coiling between my legs that’s making me fucking nauseous. I’m getting turned on—my body is reacting to my _son_ and it’s the most disgusting thing I’ve ever experienced.

I dry heave. “I’m going to puke.” He’s stroking my back and rolling the tip of his tongue in a circle around my nipple. My toes curl.

Ben doesn’t answer. I can see his black hair bobbing under my chin; feel the calming pull of milk from my breast. He hums and struggles closer, readjusting his arm under my head and stroking my hair. His other slips from my shirt and cups the breast he’s latched onto. Gentle, he massages.

This is wrong—this is wrong. I thread my fingers in Ben’s hair and try vainly to pull him away but he whines and refuses to budge. I’m dizzy, confused by what I’m feeling and trying to reconcile what’s happening in my mind. My son suckles rhythmically in the meantime.

He lets off for a minute and a wet trail trickles down my breast. I shudder while Ben licks it up.

 “Kinda watery,” he rumbles.

I stare into space. His mouth returns to my other nipple and he reaches down for his crotch. I tremble and stroke his hair as he grunts and sucks. Shock sets in. This is really happening.

Ben groans. “Mama…” He spits on his palm. “I love you so much.”

It takes less than a minute for him to come. Sticky wetness squirts on my jeans and he bobs my nipple in his mouth like a pacifier, moaning. I squeeze my eyes shut and huff through my teeth. Fuck. _Fuck._

He stills. My breasts are sore but not heavy anymore. Ben’s cum is on my jeans and I feel it drying there under the sheets. I’m shifting my hips, trying to ignore the pressure between my thighs. I’m not turned on. I’m not turned on.

He sighs and nuzzles under my chin. Neither of us speaks.


	7. amaterasu

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i hope u enjoyed this absolutely awful deranged story

It feels like I’m in a dream.

I sit on the couch with Han and Ben the next day. My son sidles close beside me and casually loops a big around around my shoulders. It’s warm and heavy and smells like deodorant. I stare at the television. Han yawns and cracks his knuckles.

Ben strokes my shoulder with his fingertips, light and teasing like… like…

He rests his cheek on my shoulder closest to him and heaves a sigh. It clicks: I’m in mortal danger. He’s not going to stop. This will end badly with my own son causing me physical harm.

And I don’t know what to do.

—————

 “Come on, Rey; you’re his mother. He won’t hurt you.”

Han’s leaving and I’m beside myself. I have no one else to turn to except the police or maybe a psych ward, but I feel so terribly guilty that I can’t bring myself to call either. Leia refuses to let Ben in her home and I’m afraid Ben might hurt someone else.

I sob into my palm. “He’s doing awful things to me! What am I supposed to do?!”

 “He’s just confused. Kid’s whacked out.” Han shrugs into his coat, avoiding my eyes. “Bring ‘em to the hospital and they can lock him up there. I can swing by tonight if you want and help.”

Still can’t bring myself to detail what’s been happening. What if someone thinks I want it? Ben’s sixteen and… I don’t want anyone assuming I’m asking him to do these horrible things.

I agree to bring Ben to the hospital later on when he’s home from school. Leia needs Han to pick up their dinner so he can’t stay and supervise for now. He awkwardly kisses my forehead and leaves without another word. I cry in the bathroom.

—————

 “…Domperidone? It’s a drug—an illegal drug in the States—used to induce lactation, amongst other things. You… aren’t taking it deliberately?”

The doctor has repeated _domperidone_ and _laced_ several times but I’m still gaping at the wall. I’m wearing an old nursing bra under my pajamas, because I’m too stressed-out to change into real clothes. I called in to work. I haven’t call in to work in years.

I cover my mouth. “There—There has to be a mistake.”

 “Is there a reason someone would want to do such a thing? It could potentially be crushed and mixed in to foods, but… I’ve never heard of it before. Are you safe, Miss Niima?”

I hang up and call Ben’s psychiatrist.

—————

They encourage me to have someone else around when I confront my son, but Leia manages to keep Han away and I’m up shit creek without a paddle. I sit in silence on my living room couch, letting the dark night crawl slowly across me until I’m bathed in it. I’ve no tears left, I think.

It’s about seven when the door slams and Ben calls my name. He’s smiling when he sees me but it fades away the longer I stare at him.

I swallow. “Do you have any idea how much I’ve sacrificed to keep you happy?”

He lets his book bag fall to the floor. His expression shifts: tight and calculating, no longer giving away any sort of emotion. I stare at him as he shuffles to the couch and sits beside me.

I’ve had a long time to think, but nothing comes out.

Ben cocks his head, sharp, like a bird. “Did you talk to the doctor?”

 “Yes,” I whisper.

He nods and it’s apparent that he knows what I know. Ben examines his hands in his lap for a minute and pushes off his sneakers with the balls of his feet. He squints out the window. It’s all a little too calm for me, since I feel like I’m about to explode.

 “Are you mad?” he asks, still not looking at me.

 “You _drugged me_. Of course I’m mad. I think you need serious help, Ben; help I can’t give you.”

The fridge buzzes from the other room, soft and low in the darkness. I sniffle and wipe my eyes as Ben pats me gently on the back, twice between my shoulder blades. His warm hand remains.

 “I wanted to make this romantic and stuff, but…” His thick fingers curl around the back of my neck. “We can do it this way.”

A whistle in the dark, then sharp pain in my bare thigh. I jump in shock; Ben tightens his hand around my nape and shushes me, thumb pressing down on the plunger of a needle. He chucks it on the coffee table and it clatters to the floor before I can blink.

I cry out in shock and terror as my son drags my head back to rest on the arch of the couch and the drug seeps under my skin. He kisses my cheek first and trails a sloppy mess down my throat, hot and wet and eager, and I try my damndest to push him off. But Ben swats my hand away and palms a breast instead, squeezing gently until milk stains the front of my shirt.

 “It won’t hurt,” he mumbles. “Promise.”

I try to scream but it dies in my throat. He tugs off my bra and casts it aside, then his mouth is on my nipple, hungry and searching like a few days ago. The muscles in my neck seize up and I’m left pawing pathetically at his back while he quietly hums and suckles, occasionally pausing to lick my nipple instead.

Ben rolls my other nipple around with his thumb and seems content that way for a while. I’m expecting revulsion to bloom bright in my head but can only manage focusing on base physical reactions. He’s pleased; tender. It’s relaxing and I could almost fall asleep, but I manage to rasp another ‘please stop.’

He pops free. “I’m not done, mama.” Soft black hair brushes under my chin—he’s nuzzling me. He cups the breast that’s still full and murmurs in my ear. “Still hungry.”

Our couch creaks as he unbuttons his jeans and pushes them down his hips. They fall to the floor with a quiet thump and I flail as Ben guides me to his lap, straddling his hips. He keeps his feet firmly planted on the floor and wraps me in a bear hug, chin on his shoulder. I gaze at the wall across the room.

 “Love you so much. More than anyone.” He buries his face in the crook of my neck and takes a shuddering breath. “You’re _mine_. This is _my_ house and you’re _my_ mommy.”

His hips roll. God. I close my eyes and try to float away but I can feel his cock sliding against my slit through my thin pants, nudging my clit on the upstroke. Ben groans and kisses my shoulder while he slowly circles and bucks, experimenting with what he likes.

The drug pulls me up. I’m behind a wall watching my body react: wet pussy, hard nipples, quicker breath. He’s rubbing my clit and I _know_ I can come if he keeps going and I _know_ I might.

He breathes hard on my neck. “Gonna come so fucking hard.”

Ben holds me in a vice and a minute later he comes. His cock pulses against me, spurting cum up his belly on his shirt and drooling some down towards my pants. He moans, jerking into the spasms after orgasm, and I fight to ignore the throbbing in my clit.

I loll limply in his arms as he carries me upstairs and down the hall to my bedroom. I’m drowsy. I reflect on my son as a baby and a toddler and try to track where I went wrong, but things are too fuzzy.

We go to his bedroom instead, where he sets me down very carefully, like I might shatter. I’m not sure if he’s a sadist or a psychopath or what. Delusional, yes. Deeply ill, and I ignored it. Maybe I work too much. Maybe I should’ve taken him to Disney World.

Ben strips off my pants and shirt. He shuts his bedroom door and takes off his own clothes to reveal a body I haven’t seen much of since he went through puberty. He seems to glow in the darkness, brown eyes alight with _something_. I whimper as he crawls into the bed like a spider.

 “Just us,” he reassures himself softly. “Just us.”

We reposition. He leans against his headboard and guides my languid body into his lap, thighs spread over his hips. I’m in a nightmare, I hope. But I feel the warmth of his skin on mine and the press of his cock along my slit, thick and hard like his father’s, and I drunkenly cant against it. Ben tugs his blankets over us.

 “I know how you sound when you finish,” he whispers. Hands settle on my waist, guiding my squirming. My slick bodily fluids smear along his shaft. “You squeal.”

My drug-addled mind focuses on the desperate tension between my legs. I drape over Ben’s shoulder until he holds me back just far enough to nurse from the full breast. His clammy soft hands paw for my waist and he sucks in a sharp breath at the first draw—but it feels _good_ , him laving my nipple, and I wrap my arms around his head.

I’m going to come. It tenses in my lower stomach and I huff and squeeze my eyes shut; feel precum sticky on my skin. He’s suckling wetly and keeps shifting his legs underneath me, whimpering like he used to when he was sick.

An orgasm shudders up from my reptile brain. Whining, I slow my frantic pace and roll out the spasms of pleasure, riding up higher to get enough friction. My eyes are half-open, lips parted. On the last draw up I shiver and Ben pulls my hips up higher.

His mouth leaves my nipple for a second. “Wanna come inside you, mama.”

A nudge, then hard push. Ben penetrates me in one swift, abrupt stroke that makes me yelp in shock. He stiffens and swears, breathing hard and kissing my breast, then he jerks up into me. His thrusts are fast and frantic with no rhythm and I realize this might be his first time. I manage to cry a few tears.

He’s puffing and fucking me fast. “F-Feels so good— _so_ good.” The mattress bounces with creaks and I can feel him throbbing inside me. “I’m—I’m not gonna last. Gonna come so hard for you.” Ben kisses my temple, moaning into a whimper. “I’m gonna come, mama.”

Ben gasps as his orgasm suddenly overtakes him. He holds my hips in place and rolls his load inside me, choking and shuddering.

I sag over his shoulder when he stops moving. His chest heaves, breathing and heartbeat coming back to normal, and I feel his cum already sliding down with gravity. I sob, tearless.

 “It’s okay.” Ben swallows and rubs the back of my head. “It’s okay. I’m here.”

 “B-Ben… h-hon—honey…”

 “Shh… it’s okay.” He wriggles down in bed with me still in his lap and refuses to let go. “We don’t need anyone else: no doctors, no Han. You’ll keep feeding me and I’ll make sure you have enough medicine.”

Gently, he guides me to my side. Ben looks me right in the eyes, smiling, and kisses the tip of my nose. He slides beneath the sheets and pretends to root for my nipple like he doesn’t know where it is, then grasps my wrist and presses my palm to the side of his head. His cheek rises and falls in time with relieving suckling.

I lie there, stunned—then I stroke his temple with my thumb. His cum dribbles on my thigh, thin and watery, and I close my eyes.

I’m pretty sure that I fucking hate him.


End file.
